Ransom
by Hannaadi88
Summary: 1187- the third crusade to the Holy Land. Alfred Jones, son of one of the wealthier lords in England, is planning on joining the campaigners. His tutor, Sir Kirkland, isn't so thrilled.
1. Chapter 1

It wasn't going to be easy.

Taking a deep breath, Alfred stepped out of the doorway and made his way towards the courtyard, his sheathed sword bumping against his thigh familiarly as he walked. He had worn some sort of weapon ever since the age of three when he had been officially weaned and was straddled on his first pony. Seventeen years later he felt almost naked without a weight on his hip.

He headed towards the sound of metal clashing against metal, stopping when he found the man he was seeking. His presence undetected, Alfred remained silent as he watched the other, his instructor, practice his swordsmanship against another young fellow. He admired how the man could move so swiftly on his feet without ever tripping, back up without giving his foe any advantage over him and the artful movements of his wrist as he plunged forwards.

Without much surprise, the young challenger called out as his blade was pushed out of his hands and fell to the ground with a noisy clatter. The instructor slid his own sword back into its scabbard and watched the other carefully as he picked up his weapon and retreated, biting back an oath. It wasn't wise to swear at Sir Kirkland.

Alfred grinned widely and approached his tutor, clapping him on the back and catching him unawares. He loved sneaking up on the other and feeling his body jump beneath his hand as he realized that he wasn't alone. Expecting the usual dark mutterings and slap on his chest, Alfred was surprised when the other simply turned around and laughed, wiping the sweat off his brow with his handkerchief.

"Did you want something, Alfred?" Arthur asked, bending down to gather his things. "I was under the impression that our session is later today."

Running his tongue over his lower lip in anticipation, Alfred cleared his throat. "Yes, I wanted to tell you something. Secret," he added, noting in satisfaction the way Arthur straightened and raised his brow at him, shifting his gear beneath his arm.

"What sort of secret, exactly?"

Alfred smiled widely and took a grip of the other's free arm, dragging him across the courtyard and only stopping when they were safe inside the foliage. "The type that you have to swear not to tell my parents."

Looking very much alert, Arthur rolled his eyes at the childish stipulation and swatted Alfred's hand off of his arm, narrowing his eyes. "Spit it out, boy. I do not make promises."

Airy amusement gone, Alfred folded his arms against his chest. "I am serious, Arthur. You are not allowed to tell anyone else, or I will not say a thing."

Arthur pursed his lips, considering Alfred's resolve before emitting a small sigh and frowning, nodding his assent. "Fine. I promise. What is it, then? You have not committed murder, have you?"

The smile back on Alfred's lips, he laughed shortly and unfolded his arms. "No, no. Nothing like that. I am-" Alfred looked around, drawing in closer to whisper in the other's ear, "-I am joining the crusades."

Not quite sure how the other would respond, Alfred observed as Arthur stiffened and looked up, meeting his gaze incredulously. "You cannot possibly mean that," he said softly, brows furrowing. Swallowing thickly, Alfred shook his head. "No, I mean it, Arthur. I am going to go and join the group that will be leaving in a few weeks to meet up with the army in London. I already signed up."

Arthur held his gaze, searching for the lie but failing to find it. Roughly, he pushed Alfred away and turned towards the castle, throwing the other a look over his shoulder.

"Cancel whatever plans you had for the day and meet me at the stables in fifteen minutes, lad. Be there."

* * *

Tuneless and low chatter greeted Alfred as he followed his tutor through the tavern door. Scanning the drab stone walls bare of tapestries and reflecting the smokey torchlight, he felt somewhat uneasy. A man with a scar stretching across his cheek eyed him from his position behind the counter as he walked in, giving Alfred the distinct feeling of having someone staring at you without being able to do anything about it. Peering around him, he could understand why he would attract unwanted attention.

Most of the men huddled around the small tables, gambling quietly and downing their drinks were outcasts, Alfred could tell. The social outcasts that no respectable landlord would rent his property out to: beggars, lone soldiers, peddlers. All defined by their low quality apparel and the lines that were permanently etched on their features, the suspicion in their eyes that never faded even as they smiled.

These sort of men were Alfred's opposite, and his being on the upper hand of society, he would hardly blame them if they were to resent him, to act upon their resentment. Not that he wouldn't defend himself, of course. What did trouble him, though, was why Arthur had chosen to bring him to _this_ tavern, of all places.

"Do not pay them any heed," he heard said man whisper to him under his breath as they seated themselves down at a corner table, away from the unfortunate crowd. As Alfred took his seat, he smiled at a young man sitting at the nearest table whom he had caught looking at him, but the other had narrowed his eyes at him as in asking '_what are _you _doing here_' before turning away. With a small sigh he turned back to gaze at Arthur who was smiling at him encouragingly, perhaps even with a small degree of amusement, before raising his hand and signaling to a waiter.

By the way Arthur was flagging down the man with familiarity and the way the other approached them and nodded at Arthur in recognition, Alfred was taken aback. Despite the fancy livery the other wore, he realized that his tutor knew the tavern and its inhabitants well. No one was eying daggers at him, Alfred noted while taking a quick glance around. Obviously, the men there had no qualms with Arthur Kirkland. But why was that? How much did he not know of the man in front of him?

Opening his mouth to question Arthur why it was he frequented the damned place, the other had beat him to it and raised a brow at him, accepting the ale he was handed by the returning waiter. "You won't have something to drink?" he asked, gesturing to his tankard. Alfred shook his head wordlessly, finally feeling the ebb of excitement he would have when crossing a line.

His father would never approve of his being there, even accompanied by the ever able Arthur. No one seemed to register that he was already well into his twentieth year and very much competent in managing his own life without constant monitoring. The rank of alcohol and sweat was hardly appealing, but it carried a heady scent of danger for a sheltered youth.

Arthur shrugged and downed his drink, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and setting down the tankard on the wooden surface of the table noisily, not bothered by the curious looks he received. The only attention he sought out was Alfred's, it seemed, catching his wandering eyes and keeping them firmly on his face with his own.

"Now, what is this war nonsense you were speaking of?"

Alfred could feel his muscles tense at the other's question. He looked up to his tutor by principle- he craved Arthur's praise, knowing it to be sparsely given and rare, a treat reserved for those who deserved it. No flattery to the lord's son from Sir Kirkland, as he introduced himself when they first met. Unlike with his previous teachers, Alfred made actual progress with his fencing and combat skills under Arthur's instruction, quick to notice his mistakes and call them out as so.

For Arthur to consider his mission 'nonsense' was an impossible idea for Alfred. This was his chance to argue his cause and gain the other's approval.

"It isn't nonsense," Alfred insisted, leaning forward with a grin. "It's a calling. The holy father himself commands us to it."

Unimpressed, Arthur frowned and leaned back, folding his arms across his chest. "The crusades may be backed up by the word of the pope, yes, but that does not mean that every young man with a sword should abandon his family and up and go to the deserts."

"And why not?" he pressed, face aglow with the ideal his tutor had presented him with. "Every man is needed to save Jerusalem from those pagans! Who am I to lay about in the comforts of my home while Christian blood is spilled at the gates of the holy city?"

"You are the sole heir of your father's estate, for one, and the future benefactor of his tenants," Arthur snapped, clearly irritated by Alfred's blind belief. "What if your blood is the next to spill? What would all those that depend on your inheritance do for their living?" He lowered his voice and narrowed his eyes. "You would be selfish to leave."

Alfred bit his lip in order to hold back from his (rather violent) initial reaction and took a deep breath, meeting Arthur's gaze squarely. "I do not see how fulfilling my duty to God could be considered 'selfish'."

"It could very well be seen so when all you are really seeking is fame," Arthur decreed cooly, glare amplified by his thick brows. Usually, Alfred would be tempted to laugh it off, not able to take the expression seriously, but not then.

His blue eyes widened, reflecting his inner shock with the excited flush draining from his cheeks. He regarded the man on the other side of the table silently, seeing his anger cool off and fade into a troubled, almost remorseful expression.

Arthur was the one to whom Alfred had confided his dreams, expressed his desire to become a man of honor on his own right to be worthy of the title he was to inherit at his father's death. It was Arthur who encouraged him in his training to be such a man, who inspired him to work hard to achieve his goal. He didn't think for a moment that the other would be his obstacle in his path, much the less use his secrets against him.

Despite the certainty Arthur used while accusing him, he didn't know the whole story like he most likely thought he did. Typical of Arthur, to think that he knew everything about everyone. Well. While, admittedly, Alfred was looking for a reason to break away, this was a cause he identified with strongly. People were dying at the hands of the heathens in the east and they needed help. His help. This was his opportunity to drop everything and go, but he truly felt a calling to offer his services.

"Alfred..." Arthur said his name softly, apparently about to apologize. Alfred didn't want to hear it, though, at least not at that given moment. Keeping his face devoid of emotion, he pushed away from the table and ignored the stares from the people surrounding him, leaving a few coins on the surface so that Arthur could pay for his drink. He avoided the other's gaze as he took his leave formally, inclining his head at his tutor.

When he turned and walked out of the tavern, Arthur didn't follow him.

* * *

_Hanna Chan's Blah-Blah Corner;_

_Well, I seem to say this every time I post something, but I haven't posted anything in a while XD This is just something I started writing for my own entertainment after visiting a crusader castle ruin. I kept writing and then realized it just turned out as porn XD So I figured I might as well share this._

_If you read and liked this, then please leave a review ;w; Thank you! I've got most of it written up, and I just need to see that there's an interest..._

_-Hanna_


	2. Chapter 2

The heavy wooden door creaked as Alfred pushed it open, slamming it against the wall in frustration. Arthur had been absent during the household supper, and for all that he knew the other could have easily stayed at the tavern and drunken himself to oblivion as he often did when distressed. He had been preaching of nobility and honor but was still a child, walking away like that without a word.

A movement in the direction of his bed noticed from the side of his eye caught his attention and he turned his head, starting when he saw a figure on the mattress. His hand quickly gripped at his side to unsheathe his dagger, when he recognized the man, arm going limp at his thigh.

"Arthur?" he whispered, not quite understanding the picture in front of him. What was Arthur doing in his bedroom? Had he been waiting for him? "Why are you here?"

The other waved him forward and Alfred obliged, still slightly shocked as he approached the man and stood before him. The window was open and the cool night air circulated in his room, drifting the heavy stench of alcohol that pulsed from Arthur's body. Alfred frowned, recognizing the smell and resenting the other for it. Forget what Arthur was doing in his room- what was he doing in his room, _drunk?_

"Come on, sit down. It's your own bed," Arthur patted the space next to him, tilting his head and gazing at him expectantly. Hesitating, Alfred eventually took his seat next to his tutor, poised to react to any sort of action Arthur may do. The other was usually violent and verbal when drunk, and Alfred wasn't about to take any chances, especially when he had provoked enough grief for Arthur to resort to drinking. He must have been furious with him.

He glanced down to Arthur's thigh, searching for his scabbard to check if he was armed when he heard the other chuckle lightly. "I have nothing on me, boy- I am as defenseless as a child if you wanted to hurt me."

Startled, Alfred glanced up. "Why would I ever want to hurt you?" he asked, brows furrowing. It wasn't typical of Arthur to show up anyplace without his sword, even while meeting with Alfred, whom he trusted.

"You already have, Alfred," Arthur said easily, not seeming to notice the effect of his words on his companion. "You want to discard everything you've ever known, all of those who have loved you and provided for you, for the sake of some strangers in some strange land."

This again. "But Arthur," Alfred bit his lip, denying how much the other's words hurt, "_you_ must understand, of all people_. _I don't want to stay trapped here all my life, and you know it! It isn't that I'm ungrateful, but...isn't that what you did? Leave everything behind?"

Arthur stiffened, features visibly darkening. He stood up and walked towards the window, gazing out of it and addressing Alfred quietly. "Is that what you think? That I left my home on my own volition and set out for some sort of noble quest?"

"What else, then?" Alfred insisted, remaining seated on his bed and studying the other's figure sternly. "You are one of the best swordsmen that I've ever known- surely you felt that you had to use your talent to help those in need of it?"

His tutor let out a short, bitter guffaw of laughter and turned around, the moonlight illuminating his pained expression. "And end up here? My great goal in life was to end up as a teacher for the spoiled brat of the local lord?"

Alfred's cheeks flared as he shot up, arms slightly trembling at his sides. "That is what you see me as, then? A spoiled brat?"

"What else?" Arthur shot back, leaning against the windowsill with a dull look. "Who else would think only of himself but a big, spoiled-" he cut himself off with a grunt as he was pinned against the cold stone wall by Alfred's body, swearing beneath his breath as his head cracked against the hard surface.

Alfred held the other's arms firmly against the wall, digging his fingers into the soft skin. "What is it to you? Why would you care if I left? If I died, wouldn't you be happy, free from tutoring a spoiled brat?"

The other man opened his mouth to respond but didn't have a chance to say a word before Alfred leaned forward and pressed his own mouth against Arthur's forcefully, taking the lack of movement on the other's behalf as an invitation to deepen the kiss, pushing his tongue into Arthur's damp cavern. He ran it against the other's upper set of teeth before he was pushed away roughly by his tutor, staring at him wide-eyed and panting shallowly, face flushed.

"What are you _doing?_" Arthur hissed, wiping his mouth off venomously. Swallowing down the hurt, Alfred steeled himself. "I am not a child anymore, Arthur! I deserve to be seen as an adult, but even you treat me like some precious boy that has to be protected from the ugliness of the world!"

The emotion in Arthur's face changed rapidly, incredulous shock, to anger, morphing into a somewhat tender look as he stepped forward and cupped Alfred's chin in his palm, running his thumb down the side of his cheek.

"But you _are _precious, do you not see?" he whispered softly, a ghost of a smile on his lips. "I know a great deal of people who would mourn to see a dash across this perfect face, only more if you were to be slaughtered over the desert sand. Can you not see that you aren't patronized, but only cared for? You would not last a minute without someone's help."

Abruptly, Arthur pulled away and frowned, turning to go. "I won't mention your...mistake... to anyone. You would be wise to do the same."

Without a further word, he walked out of the room and closed the door behind him, leaving Alfred alone to contemplate what exactly had occurred during those past few minutes. All he knew, though, as he sat back down on his bed and lay sprawled above the bedcovers, was that whatever it was, it was definitely an incentive to leave.

If only to prove Arthur wrong.

* * *

The air was snatched from his lungs as Alfred stumbled down from his horse, landing on the hard ground at an odd angle and crying out as his right arm came in contact with the surface. The man he had rushed in to aid was long gone, running across the field as fast as he could towards safety while leaving Alfred behind with the enemy.

He quickly attempted at scrambling to his feet, knowing that he couldn't waste precious time on the ground, at an obvious disadvantage, and moved to grasp the sword he had dropped during his fall, stopped short by the shot of pain up his bone. Swearing beneath his breath, Alfred made a move for his weapon with his left arm, kneeling forwards and grasping the hilt when a heavy boot stepped none too gently on his unarmored hand.

Alfred suppressed the scream of agony to the best of his abilities while looking up defiantly at the turbaned man towering above him, a satisfied smirk etched across his face. He tried to yank his arm away but the dead weight wouldn't let him budge. An amused chuckle alerted him too late of another foot kicking him beneath his chin, sending him onto his back and knocking his head against a large boulder. Alfred could feel the familiar trickle of warm blood down the back of his head, staining his sun bleached blond red.

A sharp object pressed against his throat, prompting his head up. Unconsciously obeying, Alfred raised his eyes to meet their piercing black counterpart, only dimly hearing the throaty language that would have sent chills down his spine if he had the energy.

He'd been traveling with his brigade for over a year, traveling the coast of England before setting sail for the holy land, marking their way to Jerusalem with burnt villages and fresh blood soaking in the sand. Alfred had been horrified at first when he saw his friends break into houses to steal food and rape whatever woman that fell in their path, not being able to understand their desperation that was supposed to be sated by their heaven derived mission.

But when the hunger began to get to him and the feeling of driving his sword into another's body he experienced all too frequently, Alfred found himself joining the raids and swallowing all he could handle at the time, not knowing when his next meal would be, not knowing if he'd live to see the morrow.

Skirmishes and battles with the natives weren't uncommon, and the odds were fairly equal in the favor of both forces. Alfred would gallop away and wait until his comrades regrouped just as much as he would be leaving the battlefield with a sense of satisfaction.

_You see? I did it. I'm still alive._

Not for long, though, Alfred surmised as he felt the sharp blade being pressed on its flat side flush against his throat, understanding with a degree of detachment that the other was most likely planning to slit his throat properly rather than cut it clean off. Dirtier, messier, but most importantly, all the more painful. He had hoped to succumb quickly.

A loud shout that made his head throb pierced through the buzzing silence Alfred had nestled into, snapping him back to reality just when he wanted to be as far from it as possible. The blade against his throat was suddenly gone, followed by a scream and the scent of blood, though he wasn't sure if it was his or someone else's.

A presence hovered over him, and Alfred raised his left arm to swat away at it pathetically when, predictably, the figure grabbed his wrist. His grasp wasn't bone breaking or bruising, but soothing and firm. Something that of a distant memory. Squinting his eyes open, Alfred could distinguish the sandy blond haze from the beating sun, surrounding the man's head with a holy halo of light akin to those that grazed saints.

"Alfred?" he could have sworn the figure had said his name, calling out to him and shaking him. Pleasantly sated, Alfred closed his eyes once more and allowed himself to succumb to the darkness, knowing somehow that he was in good hands.

* * *

_Hanna Chan's Blah-Blah Corner;_

_I didn't think I would get so many requests to post the continuation to this XD Thank you all so very much! I know this setting hasn't been addressed much, if at all, and I may not do it justice, but I do hope you'll stick out with me 'till the end =w= _

_The smut will come, no worries. Maybe even next chapter? We'll see *hums*_

_-Hanna_


	3. Chapter 3

"You saved my life."

The other man shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, continuing to focus on the sword ply he'd been practicing for the better part of the afternoon. Alfred watched him from his perch on the garden bench, having preferred the peaceful surroundings the outside provided and the fragrant spring air to remaining in bed. After weeks of being confined to the same four walls, he had become quite desperate for a breath of freedom.

Seeing that he wouldn't be getting a reply, Alfred tried again. "How was it that you even found me?"

The man paused in mid action, blade suspended in the air for a few good moments as its owner considered his options. Having had come to his decision, the other sheathed his sword and turned around to face Alfred, folding his arms and raising a brow.

"I have told you this at least a thousand times ever since we arrived," Arthur stipulated sternly, yet the frown didn't reach his eyes. Instead, as Alfred had come to notice over the time they spent together, his tutor seemed to possess some sort of indulgence for him in particular, which enabled him to get away with things he would have had a hard time talking his way out of with just a smile.

Arthur relented, though, and walked over to where Alfred was sitting and sat down beside him, taking the bible that Alfred had discarded on the bench and handing it back to him to make space for the two of them. "I had been assigned to the crusades by my father and just happened to see someone who I thought looked like you and helped him. You should be grateful that I even saw you through all that dust."

Alfred nodded back enthusiastically, indicating that he was indeed grateful, but he couldn't help the frustration he felt at Arthur's answer. The same one he gave him every time he asked. Alfred would have liked to have thought that the other had left for the crusades in order to find him and was sent by God to deliver him from death, but Arthur kept on insisting that there were no chivalrous or emotional reasons to back up his actions. Always so practical.

Sighing wearily, Alfred picked up the book from his lap and flipped through the pages slowly, his hands still recovering from his injuries. Another thing that Arthur had done was that he had carried him somehow to the nearest abbey and remained with him as Alfred had been in the process of regaining his health. Perhaps the other's delayed presence was some sort of sign, but Alfred quickly gave up on that notion as well when the other insisted that he was there for the reward.

The reward. As Alfred slowly recovered, he had learned that his father had proposed a reward for his safe return to whoever could bring him back home unharmed, when he had learned that his son had ran away to join the crusades. Arthur's explanations conflicted in many ways, but Alfred decided not to question it. Not yet, at any rate.

"Is something the matter?" Alfred raised his head from the book and met Arthur's worried gaze. He thought about the question for a few moments. Was something the matter?

Yes, something was wrong. Heating up whenever the other got too close, face turning a light shade of red when they accidentally touched and waking up at night with his lower regions on fire after he had dreamed of Arthur- all of this was not normal. Neither was the hurt and disappointment he felt whenever the other insisted that his company came only from self interest.

Narrowing his eyes, Alfred slammed the book shut and held it as tightly as he could in his grasp. "No, I am perfectly fine, thank you," he snapped, averting his eyes away from Arthur's face before the other could catch the fire dwelling in them. He began shifting himself, making preparations for moving himself when a hand grabbed his chin and turned his head to meet Arthur's gaze.

"Do not lie to me," Arthur growled, massive brows furrowing over his eyes. Alfred tried to pull away, to yank his head out of the other's grip, but in his weakened state he wasn't quite able to do so. Instead, he stilled and glared back at his tutor.

"As you lie to me?" he spat, ignoring the way the other's eyes lost their ferocity and had changed into something darker, more dangerous. "You need not stay with me in this remote abbey, Arthur, truly. I will personally make sure that you receive your reward for saving my life. You are free to leave. I know how much you detest me-"

Alfred was unable to finish his sentence, however, as he was silenced by a mouth pressing hard against his own. Without giving it a moment's thought, Alfred was kissing right back and just as fiercely, dropping the book to the ground in favor of tangling his fingers in Arthur's hair, pulling him flush against his body.

The other man didn't seem to have any qualms with the purchase Alfred took of his body, only releasing a small groan into their kiss as his arms wrapped tightly around his student's shoulders. His eyes shut tight and were unwilling to open even when Alfred's hands delved beneath his jerkin and felt across his stomach, only pressing closer.

Alfred's hands cascaded over Arthur's warm flesh, feeling his chest with a frenzy that defined a hunger that had been restrained for far too long. The pain from his movements, however, woke him from his trance and snapped him back to reality, one in which he had just realized his deepest wishes and deadliest sins.

He was far past caring for his immortal soul, however. It was Arthur's conscience he was concerned with.

"Arthur," Alfred pulled away, panting harshly. The other's eyes finally opened and looked back at him frantically, willing him to remain silent. Not to ruin their precious moment. His nails dug into Alfred's shoulders, laying their claim.

"Be quiet," the other hissed in Alfred's ear before dipping his head and mouthing at his neck, hard. Alfred exhaled sharply as his pulse was latched onto and decided to forgo whatever reservations he had resurrected and allowed them to die within him while his hands traced Arthur's sides, rubbing and pressing imprints of his fingers into the soft flesh.

Abruptly he leaned forward and pushed Arthur down onto his back, slamming him hard against the stiff wood of the bench, carelessly. Arthur swore beneath his breath as his head came into contact with the surface and pulled Alfred down with him by the shoulders, crushing their mouths together into a rough kiss.

Their tongues constantly changed places, battling for dominance in each other's caverns. They twirled together, one damp muscle against the other, pushing and caressing until Alfred pressed forward with a bout of enthusiasm, conquering his tutor's cavern and marking it as his own with the swipe of the tongue against the roof of Arthur's mouth.

Running his hands frantically down Arthur's sides, Alfred ignored the pain of his jerky movements with his injured arms and gripped one of the other's thighs tightly, digging his fingers into the fabric while his other hand delved between Arthur's legs and pulled them apart, pressing his own knee to the other's crotch as he deepened the kiss even further. He felt more than heard the other man's gasp at the new contact, very quickly followed by the buck of the hips as Arthur tried to create more of the pressure he craved.

Their bodies froze at the sound of the abbey bells ringing nearby, calling the brothers in for their midday meal. The monks from all over the area would be gathering in the great hall and share their food together in relative peace and quiet, kindly asking each other to pass this or pass that. Usually Arthur would join these men and later on bring Alfred leftovers into his room, but neither of them were hungry at that moment. Not for food, at any rate.

But they obviously couldn't continue out there in the gardens- someone was bound to see them. Breathing heavily, Alfred pulled away from Arthur and stood up, giving the other a look that meant for him to follow. His tutor hardly needed any directions, though, and quickly got to his feet as well and pulled his jerkin down as they quickly made their way into the abbey and through the halls.

The door slam shut to Alfred's room and Arthur found himself pinned against it, meeting Alfred's mouth eagerly and languidly. The younger man pressed his knee back to it previous position between Arthur's legs and shivered from the responding moan and the bucking of the other's hips against his own.

"Alfred...the- _ah!- _the bed," his tutor breathed against his lips. Taking a deep breath, Alfred pulled back and nodded mutely, gesturing to his cot placed against the eastern wall of the room. He swallowed and took a step back, inclining his head in the direction as well and smiling roguishly. "After you, my lady."

Arthur let out a small bark of laughter before grabbing Alfred by the collar and pressing their mouths squarely together, walking forward and forcing the other to step back until he hit the foot of the bed with the back of his calves. He pushed him down and deftly crawled on top of him, smirking at the confused face.

"_This_, boy, is how you do things."

* * *

As it turned out, Arthur had had a lot of experience with men before even meeting Alfred. That fact didn't stop Alfred from trying to regain his dominance, however, and by the time they were done both men were thoroughly exhausted.

"So every time we dueled you really only wanted to sleep with me?" Alfred questioned his tutor with a hint of humor in his voice, balancing himself on top of the other's chest. Arthur didn't seem to think that his question deemed an answer, though, and simply rolled his eyes and ran his fingers through Alfred's hair gently.

Alfred wasn't done. His hand sneaked down between their bodies and grasped the other's length tightly, squeezing it in his firm grip. Arthur's eyes widened in surprise which turned into weariness as he moved beneath the other. "Alfred, we have only just done it."

"Because I wanted to," the hand remained stubbornly around Arthur's cock, its owner deliberately ignoring the man's protest. "I have wanted to do this for years."

Silenced, Arthur posed no more objection and simply closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the pillow and sighing softly. Taking the other's silence as submission, Alfred pried himself off of Arthur's body and shifted downwards, peppering his tutor's body with quick kisses. He could feel the other's legs part for him as he went lower, pressing his tongue into the impression of Arthur's belly button and visibly seeing the muscles beneath him tense.

Taking it as a sign to continue, Alfred dragged his tongue through the mass of blond curls trailing down Arthur's crotch, bending and supporting himself on his knees. His hands took a good hold on the other's hips and steadied him, a smug grin pressed against Arthur's pelvic bone when his tutor's hands dug into his hair and pushed him lower.

Going along with Arthur's prompt, Alfred parted his lips and closed his mouth around the other's length, giving it an experimental suck. The hands on his head tightened their grip and he could hear Arthur's sharp intake of breath. Incited, Alfred bent his head lower, enveloping Arthur's cock further down his throat, swallowing around it when his nose brushed against the base. The hands on his head had taken to twirling his strands this way and that between their fingers, alternating between pulling and flattening down.

He pulled up, feeling Arthur's cock press against the walls of his throat as he moved, pushing past his gag reflex and triggering it anew with each bob of the head. So soon after their intercourse, it was a matter of seconds before Arthur came in his mouth, gasping loudly and digging his fingers into his scalp.

Alfred grimaced as he swallowed the bitter liquid but didn't object to it, rather milking the other for all he was worth until his tutor's hands relaxed their grip on his head and his body untensed, lying bonelessly against the mattress.

The other's length was gently pulled out of Alfred's mouth, followed by a hand cupping his chin. Alfred looked up, startled by the intensity of Arthur's gaze upon him.

"You look gorgeous like that, lad," Arthur teased, voice still husky from his moans. His thumb brushed over Alfred's lips, wiping away the remains of his cum. Alfred flushed slightly before grinning widely, pulling his chin away from the other's grasp. "I'm afraid I cannot say the same of you, old man."

Really, Alfred wasn't quite sure how the two of them had ended in bed. When he woke up in the morning he had still been under the impression that Arthur disliked him and was far from being a sodomite, much the less one who lusted after him in the way that Alfred lusted after Arthur.

But all of that had changed in a heated argument and there they were, completely bare in his bed and their mixed seed spread across their stomachs, lips bruised from rough kisses. There had been no words of love, no adoring touches or endearments. It had been all about heat and passion. Now with those fading away in the shadow of their actions, what was left?

He would have to find out, he supposed. They both would. But for now, Alfred was content to crawl back up Arthur's body and settle his head near the other's, draping his arm over his tutor's waist and closing his eyes, giving himself up to much needed sleep.

There would always be tomorrow to think things out.

* * *

_Hanna Chan's Blah-Blah Corner;_

_So this is where the infamous sexual tension leads people to...XD It will take these two a while before they'll be able to go further, but I hope you'll hang around *twiddles thumbs* Thank you all for your reviews! The criticism was taken and considered as well! I hope you guys'll like this chapter~_

_Reviews are welcome and are my motivation :D_

_-Hanna_


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